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THE PARTHENON BY WAY OF PAPENDRECHT

By F. Hopkinson Smith

1909

"WILYUM!..... Wilyum! .....WILYUM!"

It was mine host of the Ferry Inn at Cook ham who was calling, and at
the top of his voice and a big chested voice it was the sound leaping
into crescendo as the object of his search remained hidden. Then he
turned to me:

"He's somewheres 'round the boat house you can't miss him there's too
much of him!"

"Are ye wantin' me, sor?" came another shout as I rounded the squat
building stuffed with boats literally so bottom, top, and sides.

"Yes are you the boatman?"

"I am, sor and bloody sick of me job. Do ye see that wherry shovin'
off the one with the lady in a sweater? Yes that's right just slipped
under the bridge. Well, sor, what d'ye think the bloke did for me? Look
at it, sor!" (Here he held out his hand, in which lay a half penny.)
"And me a washin' out 'is boat, feedin' of 'is dog, and keepin' an eye
on 'is togs and 'is ladies and then shoves off and 'ands me this a
'a'penny, sor a 'a'penny from the likes o' 'im to the likes o' me!
Damn 'im!" and away went the coin into the river. "You'll excuse me,
sor, but i couldn't choke it down. Is it a punt ye're lookin' for?"

The landlord was right there was a good deal of him six feet and an
inch, I should think; straight as an oar, his bared arms swinging free;
waist, thighs, and back tough as a saw log. To this was added two big
blue eyes set in a clean shaven face bronzed by the sun, and a double
row of teeth that would have shamed an ear of corn. I caught, too, the
muscles of his chest rounding out his boating shirt, and particularly
the muscles of the neck supporting the round head crowned with closely
cropped hair evidently a young Englishman of that great middle class
which the nation depends upon in an emergency. My inspection also
settled any question I might have had as to why he was "William," and
never "Bill," to those about him.

The one thing lacking in his make up and which only came into view when
he turned his head was the upper part of one ear. This was clipped as
close as a terrier's.

Again he repeated the question with a deprecatory smile, as if he
already regretted his outburst.

"Is it a punt ye're wantin', sor?"

"Yes and a man to pole it and look after me while I paint. I had old
Norris for the past few years, but I hear he's gone back to gardening.
Will you have time with your other work?"

"Time! I'll chuck my job if I don't."

"No, you can do both, Norris did. You can pole me out to where I
want to work; bring me my lunch when you have yours, and come for me at
night. You weren't here two years ago were you?"

"No I was with General French. Got this clip outside Kimberly " and he
touched his ear. "Been all my life on the river Maidenhead and Bourne's
End mostly and so when my time was up I come home and the boss here put
me on."

"A soldier! I thought so. I see now why you got mad. Wonder you didn't
throw that chap into the river." I am a crank on the happiness one gets
from the giving of tips and a half penny man is the rock bottom of
meanness.

His face straightened.

"Well, we can't do that, sor we can't never talk back. Got to grin and
bear it or lose yer job. Learned that in the Hussahs. I didn't care for
his money maybe it was the way he did it that set me goin' as if I
was Well let it go! And it's a punt ye want? Yes, sor come and pick
it out."

After that it was plain sailing or punting. The picture of that London
cad sprawling in the water, which my approval had created in his mind,
had done it. And it was early and late too (there were few visitors
that month); down by the Weir below the lock as far as Cliveden; up the
backwater to the Mill William stretched beside me while I worked, or
pulling back and forth when a cool bottle beer, of course or a kettle
and an alcohol lamp would add to my comfort.

Many years of tramping and boating up and down the Thames from Reading
to Maidenhead have taught me the ins and outs of the river... Continue reading book >>